Rime of the Ancient Mariner
Part the First
It is an ancient Mariner,
And he stoppeth one of three,
‘By thy long grey beard and glittering eye,
Now wherefore stopp’st thou me?
The Bridegroom’s doors are opened wide,
And I am next of kin;
The guests are met, the feast is set:
May’st hear the merry din.’
He holds him with his skinny hand,
‘There was a ship,’ quoth he.
‘Hold off! unhand me, grey-beard loon!’
Eftsoons his hand dropped he.
He holds him with his glittering eye—
The Wedding-Guest stood still,
And listens like a three years’ child:
The Mariner hath his will.
The Wedding-Guest sat on a stone:
He cannot chose but hear;
And thus spake on the ancient man,
The bright-eyed Mariner.
‘The ship was cheered, the harbour cleared,
Merrily did we drop
Below the kirk, below the hill,
Below the lighthouse top.
‘The Sun came up upon the left,
Out of the sea came he!
And he shone bright, and on the right
Went down into the sea.
‘Higher and higher every day,
Till over the mast at noon—’
The Wedding-Guest here beat his breast,
For he heard the loud bassoon.
The bride hath paced into the hall,
Red as a rose is she;
Nodding their heads before her goes
The merry minstrelsy.
The Wedding-Guest he beat his breast,
Yet he cannot choose but hear;
And thus spake on that ancient man,
The bright-eyed Mariner.
‘And now the STORM-BLAST came, and he
Was tyrannous and strong;
He stuck with his o’ertaking wings,
And chased us south along.
‘With sloping masts and dipping prow,
As who pursued with yell and blow
Still treads the shadow of his foe,
And forward bends his head,
The ship drove fast, loud roared the blast,
And southward aye we fled.
‘And now there came both mist and snow,
And it grew wondrous cold:
And ice, mast-high, came floating by,
As green as emerald.
‘And through the drifts the snowy clifts
Did send a dismal sheen:
Nor shapes of men nor beasts we ken—
The ice was all between.
‘The ice was here, the ice was there,
The ice was all around:
It cracked and growled, and roared and howled
Like noises in a swound!
‘At length did cross an Albatross,
Thorough the fog it came;
As if it had been in Christian soul,
We hailed it in God’s name.
‘It ate the food it ne’er had eat,
And round and round it flew.
The ice did split with a thunder-fit;
The helmsman steered us through!
‘And a good south wind sprung up behind;
The Albatross did follow,
And every day, for food or play,
Came to the mariner’s hollo!
‘In mist or cloud, on mast or shroud,
It perched for vespers nine;
Whiles all the night, through fog-smoke white,
Glimmered the white Moon-shine.’
‘God save thee, ancient Mariner!
From the fiends, that plague thee thus!—
Why look’st thou so?’— ‘With my cross-bow
I shot the ALBATROSS.
Part the Second
The sun now rose upon the right:
Out of the sea came he,
Still hid in mist, and on the left
Went down into the sea.
And the good south wind still blew behind,
But no sweet bird did follow,
Nor any day for food or play
Came to the mariners’ hollo!
And I had done a hellish thing,
And it would work ‘em woe:
For all averred, I had killed the bird
That made the breeze to blow.
‘Ah wretch!’ said they, ‘the bird to slay,
That made the breeze to blow!’
Nor dim nor red, like God’s own head,
The glorious Sun uprist;
Then all averred, I had killed the bird
The brought the fog and mist.
‘Twas right, said they such birds to slay,
That bring the fog and mist.
The fair breeze blew, the white foam flew,
The furrow followed free;
We were the first that ever burst
Into that silent sea.
Down dropped the breeze,
the sails dropped down,
‘Twas sad as sad could be;
And we did speak only to break
The silence of the sea!
All in a hot and copper sky,
The bloody Sun, at noon,
Right up above the mast did stand,
No bigger than the Moon.
Day after day, day after day,
We stuck, nor breath nor motion;
As idle as a painted ship
Upon a painted ocean.
Water, water, every where,
And all the boards did shrink;
Water, water, every where,
Nor any drop to drink.
The very deep did rot: O Christ!
That ever this should be!
Yea, slimy things did crawl with legs
Upon the slimy sea.
About, about, in reel and rout
The death-fires danced at night;
The water, like a witch’s oils,
Burnt green, and blue and white.
And some in the dreams assurèd were
Of the Spirit that plagued us so;
Nine fathom deep he had followed us
From the land of mist and snow.
And every tongue, through utter drought,
Was withered at the root;
We could not speak, nor more than if
We had been choked with soot.
Ah! well a-day! what evil looks
Had I from old and young!
Instead of the cross, the Albatross
About my neck was hung.
Part the Third
There passed a weary time. Each throat
Was parched, and glazed each eye.
A weary time! a weary time!
How glazed each weary eye,
When looking westward, I beheld
A something in the sky.
At first it seemed a little speck,
And then it seemed a mist;
It moved and moved, and took at last
A certain shape, I wist.
A speck, a mist, a shape, I wist!
And still it neared and neared:
As it it dodged a water-sprite,
It plunged and tacked and veered.
With throats unslaked, with black lips baked
We could nor laugh nor wail;
Through utter drought all dumb we stood!
I bit my arm, I sucked the blood,
And cried, A sail! a sail!
With throats unslaked, with black lips baked
Agape they heard me call:
Gramercy! they for joy did grin,
And all at once their breath drew in,
As they were drinking all.
See! see! (I cried) she tacks no more!
Hither to work us weal;
Without a breeze, without a tide,
She steadies with upright keel!
The western wave was all a-flame.
The day was well nigh done!
Almost upon the western wave
Rested the broad bright Sun;
When the strange shape drove suddenly
Betwixt us and the Sun.
And straight the Sun was flecked with bars,
(Heaven’s Mother send us grace!)
As if through a dungeon-grate he peered
With broad and burning face.
Alas! (thought I, and my heart beat loud)
How fast she nears and nears!
Are those her sails that glance in the Sun,
Like restless gossameres?
Are those her ribs through which the Sun
Did peer, as through a grate?
And is that Woman all her crew?
Is that a DEATH? and are there two?
Is DEATH that woman’s mate?
Her lips were red, her looks were free,
Her locks were yellow as gold:
Her skin was as white as leprosy,
The Night-mare LIFE-IN-DEATH was she,
Who thicks man’s blood with cold.
The naked hulk alongside came,
And the twain were casting dice;
‘The game is done! I’ve won! I’ve won!’
Quoth she, and whistles thrice.
The Sun’s rim dips; the stars rush out:
At one stride comes the dark;
With far-heard whisper, o’er the sea,
Off shot the spectre-bark.
We listened and looked sideways up!
Fear at my heart, as at a cup,
My life-blood seemed to sip!
The stars were dim, and thick the night,
The steersman’s face by his lamp gleaned white;
From the fails the dew did drip—
Till clomb above the eastern bar
The hornèd Moon, with one bright star
Within the nether tip.
One after one, by the star-dogged Moon,
Too quick for groan or sigh,
Each turned his face with a ghastly pang,
And cursed me with his eye.
Four times fifty living men,
(And I heard nor sigh nor groan)
With heavy thump, a lifeless lump,
They dropped down one by one.
The souls did from their bodies fly,—
They fled to bliss or woe!
And every soul, it passed me by,
Like the whizz of my cross-bow!
Part the Forth
‘I fear thee, ancient Mariner!
I fear thy skinny hand!
And thou art long, and lank, and brown,
As is the ribbed sea-sand.
‘I fear thee and thy glittering eye,
And thy skinny hand, so brown.’—
Fear not, fear not, thou Wedding-Guest!
This body dropped not down.
Alone, alone, all, all alone,
Alone on a wide wide sea!
And never a saint took pity on
My soul in agony.
The many men, so beautiful!
And they all dead did lie:
And a thousand thousand slimy things
Lived on; and so did I.
I looked upon the rotting sea,
And drew my eyes away;
I looked upon the rotting deck,
And there the dead men lay.
I looked to heaven, and tried to pray;
But or ever a prayer had gusht,
A wicked whisper came, and made
My heart as dry as dust.
I closed my lids, and kept them close,
And the balls like pulses beat;
For the sky and the sea, and the sea and the sky
Lay like a load on my weary eye,
And the dead were at my feet.
The cold sweat melted from their limbs,
Nor rot nor reek did they:
The look with which they looked on me
Had never passed away.
An orphan’s curse would drag to hell
A spirit from on high;
But oh! more horrible than that
Is the curse in a dead man’s eye!
Seven days, seven nights, I saw that curse,
And yet I could not die.
The moving Moon went up the sky,
And no where did abide:
Softly she was going up,
And a star or two beside—
Her beams bemocked the sultry main,
Like April hoar-frost spread;
But where the ship’s huge shadow lay,
The charmèd water burnt away
A still and awful red.
Beyond the shadow of the ship,
I watched the water-snakes:
They moved in tracks of shining white,
And when they reared, the elfish light
Fell off in hoary flakes.
Within the shadow of the ship
I watched their rich attire:
Blue, glossy green, and velvet black,
They coiled and swam; and every track
Was a flash of golden fire.
O happy living things! no tongue
Their beauty might declare:
A spring of love gushed from my heart,
And I blessed them unaware:
Sure my kind saint took pity on me,
And I blessed them unaware.
The self-same moment I could pray;
And from my neck so free
The Albatross fell off, and sank
Like lead into the sea,
Part the Fifth
Oh sleep! it is a gentle thing.
Beloved from pole to pole!
To Mary Queen the praise be given!
She sent the gentle sleep from Heaven,
That slid into my soul.
The silly buckets on the deck,
That had so long remained,
I dreamt that they were filled with dew;
And when I awoke, it rained.
My lips were wet, my throat was cold,
My garments all were dank;
Sure I had drunken in my dreams,
And still my body drank.
I moved, and could not feel my limbs:
I was so light—almost
I thought that I had died in sleep,
And was a blessèd ghost.
And soon I heard a roaring wind:
It did not come anear;
But with its sound it shook the snails,
That were so thin and sere.
The upper air burst into life!
And a hundred fire-flags sheen,
To and fro they were hurried about!
And to and fro, and in and out,
The wan stars danced between.
And the coming wind did roar more loud,
And the sail did sigh like sedge;
And the rain poured down from one black cloud;
The Moon was at its edge.
The thick black cloud was cleft, and still
The Moon was at its side:
Like waters shot from some high crag,
The lightning fell with never a jag,
A river steep and wide.
The loud wind never reached the ship,
Yet now the ship moved on!
Beneath the lightning and the Moon
The dead men gave a groan.
The groaned, they stirred, they all uprose,
Nor spake, nor moved their eyes;
It had been strange, even in a dream,
To have seen those dead men rise.
The helmsman steered, the ship moved on;
Yet never a breeze up-blew;
The mariners all ‘gan work the ropes,
Where they were wont to do;
They raised their limbs like lifeless tools—
We were a ghastly crew.
The body of my brother’s son
Stood by me, knee to knee:
The body and I pulled at one rope,
But he said nought to me.
‘I fear thee, ancient Mariner!’
Be calm, thou Wedding-Guest!
‘Twas not those souls that fled in pain,
Which to their corses came again,
But a troop of spirit blest:
For when it dawned—they dropped their arms,
And clustered round the mast;
Sweet sounds rose slowly through their mouths,
And from their bodies passed.
Around, around, flew each sweet sound,
Then darted to the Sun;
Slowly the sounds came back again,
Now mixed, now one by one.
Sometimes a-dropping from the sky
I heard the sky-lark sing;
Sometimes all little birds that are,
How they seemed to fill the sea and air
With their sweet jargoning!
And now ‘twas like all instruments,
Now like a lonely flute;
And now it is an angel’s song,
That makes the heavens be mute.
It ceased; yet still the sails made on
A pleasant noise till noon,
A noise like of a hidden brook
In the leafy month of June,
That to the sleeping woods all night
Singeth a quiet tune.
Till noon we quietly sailed on,
Yet never a breeze did breathe:
Slowly and smoothly went the ship,
Moved onward from beneath.
Under the keel nine fathom deep,
From the land of mist and snow,
The spirit slid: and it was he
That made the ship to go.
The snails at noon left off their tune,
And the ship stood still also.
The Sun, right up above the mast,
Had fixed her to the ocean:
But in a minute she ‘gan stir,
With a short uneasy motion—
Backwards and forwards half her length
With a short uneasy motion.
Then like a pawing horse let go,
She made a sudden bound:
It flung the blood into my head,
And I fell down in a swound.
How long in that same fit I lay,
I have not to declare;
But ere my living life returned,
I heard and in my soul discerned
Two voices in the air.
‘Is it he?’ quoth one, ‘Is this the man?
By him who died on cross,
With his cruel bow he laid full low
The harmless Albatross.
‘The spirit who bideth by himself
In the land of mist and snow,
He loved the bird that loved the man
Who shot him with his bow.’
The other was a softer voice,
As soft as honey-dew:
Quoth he, ‘The man hath penance done,
And penance more will do.’
Part the Sixth
FIRST VOICE
‘But tell me, tell me! speak again,
Thy soft response renewing—
What makes that ship drive on so fast?
What is the ocean doing?’
SECOND VOICE
‘Still as a slave before his lord,
The ocean hath no blast;
His great bright eye most silently
Up to the Moon is cast—
‘If he may know which way to go;
For she guides him smooth or grim.
See, brother, see! how graciously
She looketh down on him.’
FIRST VOICE
‘But why drives on that ship so fast,
Without or wave or wind?’
SECOND VOICE
‘The air is cut away before,
And closes from behind.
‘Fly, brother, fly! more high, more high!
Or we shall be belated:
For slow and slow that ship will go,
When the Mariner’s trance is abated.’
I woke, and we were sailing on
As in a gentle weather:
‘Twas night, calm night, the moon was high;
The dead men stood together.
All stood together on the deck,
For a charnel-dungeon fitter:
All fixed on me their stony eyes,
That in the Moon did glitter.
The pang, the curse, with which they died,
Had never passed away:
I could not draw my eyes from theirs,
Nor turn them up to pray.
And now this spell was snapped: once more
I viewed the ocean green,
And looked far forth, yet little saw
Of what had else been seen—
Like one, that on a lonesome road
Doth walk in fear and dread.
And having once turned round walks on,
And turns no more his head;
Because he knows, a frightful fiend
Doth close behind him tread.
But soon there breathed a wind on me,
Nor sound nor motion made:
Its path was not upon the sea,
In ripple or in shade.
It raised my hair, it fanned my cheek
Like a meadow-gale of spring—
It mingled strangely with my fears,
Yet it felt like a welcoming.
Swiftly, swiftly flew the ship,
Yet she sailed softly too:
Sweetly, sweetly blew the breeze—
On me alone it blew.
On! dream of joy! is this indeed
The light-house top I see?
Is this the hill? is this the kirk?
Is this mine own countree?
We drifted o’er the harbour-bar,
And I with sobs did pray—
O let me be awake, my God!
Or let me sleep away.
The harbour-bay was clear as glass,
So smoothly it was strewn!
And on the bay the moonlight lay,
And the shadow of the Moon.
The rock shone bright, the kirk no less,
That stands above the rock:
The moonlight steeped in silentness
The steady weathercock.
And the bay was white with silent light,
Till rising from the same,
Full many shapes, that shadows were,
In crimson colours came.
A little distance from the prow
Those crimson shadows were:
I turned my eyes upon the deck—
O, Christ! what saw I there!
Each corse lay flat, lifeless and flat,
And, by the holy rood!
A man all light, a seraph-man,
On every corse there stood.
This seraph-band, each waved his hand:
It was a heavenly sight!
They stood as signals to the land,
Each one a lovely light;
The seraph-band, each waved his hand,
No voice did they impart—
No voice; but oh! the silence sank
Like music on my heart.
But soon I heard the dash of oars,
I heard the Pilot’s cheer;
My head was turned perforce away
And I saw a boat appear.
The Pilot and the Pilot’s boy,
I heard them coming fast:
Dear Lord in Heaven! it was a joy
The dead men could not blast.
I saw a third—I heard his voice;
It is the Hermit good!
He singeth loud his godly hymns
That he make in the wood.
He’ll shrieve my soul, he’ll wash away
The Albatross’s blood.
Part the Seventh
This Hermit good live in that wood
Which slopes down to the sea.
How loudly his sweet voice he rears!
He loves to talk with marineres
That come from a far countree.
He kneels at morn, and noon, and eve—
He hath a cushion plump:
It is the moss that wholly hides
The rotted old oak-stump.
The skiff-boat neared: I heard them talk,
‘Why, this is strange, I trow!
Where are those lights so many and fair,
That signal made but now?’
‘Strange, by my faith!’ the Hermit said—
‘And they answered not our cheer!
The planks looked warped! and see those sails,
How thin they are and sere!
I never saw aught like to them,
Unless perchance it were
‘Brown skeleton of leaves that lag
My forest-brook along;
When the ivy-tod is heavy with snow,
And the owlet whoops to the wolf below,
That eat the she-wolf’s young.’
‘Dear Lord! it hath a fiendish look—
(The Pilot made reply)
I am a-feared’—’Push on, push on!’
Said the Hermit cheerily.
The boat came closer to the ship,
But I nor spake nor stirred;
The boat came close beneath the ship,
And straight a sound was heard.
Under the water it rumbled on,
Still louder and more dread:
It reached the ship, it split the bayl
The ship went down like lead.
Stunned by that loud and dreadful sound,
Which sky and ocean smote,
Like one that heath been seven days drowned
My body lay afloat;
But swift as dreams, myself I found
Within the Pilot’s boat.
Upon the whirl, where sank the ship,
The boat spun round and round;
And all was still, save that the hill
Was telling of the sound.
I moved my lips—the Pilot shrieked
And fell down in a fit;
The holy Hermit raised his eyes,
And prayed where he did sit.
I took the oars; the Pilot’s boy
Who now doth crazy go,
Laughed loud and long, and all the while
His eyes went to and fro.
‘Ha! ha!’ quoth he, ‘full plain I see,
The Devil knows how to row.’
And now, all in my own countree.
I stood on the firm land!
The Hermit stepped forth from the boat,
And scarcely he could stand.
‘O shrieve me, shrieve me, holy man!’
The Hermit crossed his brow.
‘Say quick,’ quoth he, ‘I bid thee say—
What manner of man art thou?’
Forthwith this frame of mine was wrenched
With a woeful agony,
Which forced me to begin my tale;
And then it left me free.
Since then, at an uncertain hour,
That agony returns:
And till my ghastly tale it told,
The heart within me burns.
I pass, like night, from land to land;
I have strange power of speech;
That moment that his face I see,
I know the man that must hear me:
To him my tale I teach.
What loud uproar bursts from the door!
The wedding-guest are there:
But in the garden-bower the bride
And bride-maids singing are:
And hark the little vesper bell,
Which biddeth me to prayer!
O Wedding-Guest! this soul hath been
Alone on a wide wide sea:
So lonely ‘twas, that God himself
Scarce seemèd there to be.
O sweeter than the marriage-feast,
‘Tis sweeter far to me,
To walk together to the kirk
With a goodly company!—
To walk together to the kirk,
And all together pray,
While each to his great Father bends,
Old men, and babes, and loving friends
And youths and maidens gay!
Farewell, farewell! but this I tell
To thee, thou Wedding-Guest!
He prayeth well, who loveth well
Both man and bird and beast.
He prayeth best, who loveth best
All things both great and small;
For the dear God who loveth us,
He made and loveth all.
The Mariner, whose eye is bright,
Whose beard with age is hoar,
Is gone: and now the Wedding-Guest
Turned from the bridegroom’s door.
He went like one that hath been stunned,
And is of sense forlorn:
A sadder and a wiser man,
He rose the morrow morn.
By: Samuel Taylor Coleridge (1798)
Rime of the Ancient Mariner was originally published in “Lyrical Ballads” (1798) which contained poems by William Wordsworth and Samuel Coleridge
Synopsis:
A Wedding-Guest is stopped by a Mariner, and is captivated by the Mariner’s eyes while listening to his story. The Mariner describes his journey on a ship with a crew of two hundred men. They run into a storm and end up in a land of mist and snow, where the Mariner kills an albatross. After killing the Albatross, a series of supernatural events occur: drought, encountering LIFE-IN-DEATH, the crew dying, colorful snakes, resurrected crew men, a Spirit from the land of mist and snow, two VOICES, and seraph-men. The Mariner gets saved by a Pilot, a Pilot’s boy, and a Hermit before the ship sinks. The Mariner turns to the Hermit for salvation and felt agony, until he told his story. Cursed by his sins, he must travel the land a select people to tell his story to. The Mariner bids the Wedding-guest farewell and leaves him “A sadder and a wiser man” (Line 625).
Major Themes and Motifs:
- Transcendentalism
- Unitarian Church
- Pantisocracy
- Neo-Platonists
- Romanticism
- “Willing Suspension of Disbelief”
- Fancy and Imagination
- “Esemplastic”
- Organic Form
- Lake Poets
Literary Terms Applicable to Rime of the Ancient Mariner:
- Allegory
- Alliteration
- Ambiguity
- Anaphora
- Analog
- Anastrophe
- Apostrophe
- Archaism
- Assonance
- Auditory Imagery
- Ballad
- Cacophony
- Common Measure
- Denotation
- Diction
- Enjambment
- Epistrophe
- Euphony
- Feminine rhyme
- Foreshadowing
- Form and Function
- Frame Narrative
- Gustatory Imagery
- Hamartia
- Heptet/Septet
- Hubris
- Hymnal Measure
- Hyperbole
- Iambs
- Imagery
- Irony
- Juxtaposition
- Kinetic Imagery
- Magical Realism
- Masculine Rhyme
- Metaphor
- Mood
- Motif
- Octet
- Olfactory Imagery
- Onomatopoeia
- Paradox
- Personification
- Prelapsarian
- Protagonist
- Quatrain
- Quintain/Cinquain
- Register
- Rhyme
- Rhythm
- Rising Action
- Sestet/Sextain
- Setting
- Simile
- Speaker
- Stanza
- Symbolism
- Synaesthesia
- Synecdoche
- Syntax
- Tactile Imagery
- Tercet
- Theme
- Tropes
- Understatement
- Verbal Imagery
Characters:
Wedding-Guest-
The narrator of Rime of the Ancient Mariner. He is captivated by the Mariner’s glistening eye, and listens to his tale even though it is clear that he is afraid. He occasionally interrupts the story to release the reader from the tension. The Mariner finishes his tale and leaves that Wedding-Guest “like one that hath been stunn’d, / And is of sense forlorn: / A sadder and a wiser man / He rose the morrow morn” (Coleridge, Lines 622-626). The Wedding-Guest mostly acts as a conduit for the audience.
The Ancient Mariner-
The Mariner is introduced by the Wedding-Guest, and is the protagonist of the poem. He’s described as having a long grey beard, glittering eyes, skinny hands, and is “long, and lank, and brown, / As is the ribb’d sea-sand” (Coleridge, Lines 228-229). He stops one in three to tell them his story, which is his punishment for his sins. He tells the Wedding-Guest his tale. He is an experienced sailor who shot an albatross, cursing him and his ship. To try and counteract the bad omens (such as the drought on the ship), he was forced to wear the corpse of the albatross around his neck. Like the other crewmen, he saw another ship approach them, and witnessed LIFE-IN-DEATH winning her game. Everyone else in the ship fell down dead and stared at the Mariner. On board the ship of dead men, he saw some colorful water snakes, and he was compelled to pray to them. He accidentally dropped the albatross into the ocean. From these encounters, the Mariner thought that he died and was a ghost until it started to rain, allowing him to drink at last. When the dead rise, he joined them in making the ship move. The Mariner heard a beautiful noise when the sounds come out of the falling bodies. He was knocked unconscious when the Spirit propelled the ship. The Mariner celebrated when he finally returns home. When the seraphs appear, he looked at them in awe (strange considering that he prayed to the water-snakes, but merely stared when the seraphs appear). The moment was interrupted by the Pilot’s boat, and the Mariner turned his attention to the boat and the Hermit. He managed to escape the ship as it sunk, and the Mariner rowed boat back home. He was told by the Hermit that he will live in agony, which can be temporarily lifted by telling his tale. He finishes his tale before bidding the Wedding-Guest farewell.
The Crew-
The crew, two hundred people, on board the ship that the Mariner was on. They were horrified by the fact that the Mariner killed an Albatross, and forced him to wear the bird around his neck when bad things start to happen. They celebrated when they saw LIFE-IN-DEATH’s ship in from of them, but died because she won the game. All of their dead eyes stared at the Mariner. Later on, the dead rose under the moonlight, and worked the ship. Eventually, the Mariner saw that their bodies were occupied by seraphs.
Albatross-
“The Albatross proveth a bird of good omen, and followeth the ship as it returned northward through for and floating ice,” (Coleridge, side note). The Albatross found the ship as it was traveling through the land of mist and snow. For some unknown reason, the Albatross was killed by the Mariner. The horrors that follow in the poem was due to the Mariner’s sin for killing the bird. The crew force the Mariner to wear the Albatrosses body before he accidently dropped the corpse into the sea. The Spirit followed the ship because, “[he] loved the bird that loved the man / Who shot him with his bow,” (Coleridge, Lines 405-406). The Mariner is forced to spend the rest of his life repenting.
The Spirit from the Land of Mist and Snow-
The Spirit was first shown in Part the Second, just after the Mariner shot the Albatross. He followed them, “[nine] fathom deep” (Coleridge, Line 133). He reappeared in Part the Fifth by stopping the Mariner’s boat, began rocking it, before allowing the ship to bound of back to where the Mariner was from. It was revealed that he loved the bird, hence why he followed for vengeance. He addressed two VOICES before returning back to the land of mist and snow.
LIFE-IN-DEATH-
Her ship first appeared in Part the Third when she arrived with DEATH, and was playing a game with him. She described as “[her] lips were red, her looks were free, / Her locks were yellow as gold. / Her skin was as white as leprosy,” (Coleridge, Lines 190-192). She won the game. LIFE-IN-DEATH was in charge of the ship. The Sun, the Moon, and the Stars appear to be in her control. She killed the crew (all but the Mariner) on board the ship.
DEATH-
Described as a “naked hulk,” who is first seen playing a game with LIFE-IN-DEATH (Coleridge, Line 195). He appeared to be under her control and loses the game.
FIRST VOICE-
Arrived with the spirit from the land of mist and snow. He was questioning and curious in nature, and asks questions about the Mariner to both the Spirit and the SECOND VOICE. He answered some of the readers questions before flying away with the other voice.
SECOND VOICE-
Arrived with the spirit from the land of mist and snow. Unlike the FIRST VOICE, he appeared to know all of the answers to the questions. He revealed that the Mariner had more penance to do, and that the Ocean and Moon was guiding the Mariner home. Eventually he flew away with the other voice as the Mariner woke up.
Seraph-men-
Appeared to be the celestial being that inhibit the corpses. They appear in their true forms when the Mariner finally reached home. Seraphs make the shadows glow crimson and wave their hands at the Mariner. It was a heavenly sight that got interrupted by the Pilot’s boat.
Pilot-
The pilot whose boat was escorting the Hermit to the ship. He was shown as being nervous to approach the boat, but was reassured by the Hermit.
Pilot’s Boy-
One of the three members on the pilot’s boat, who helped row the boat to the ship. When the ship sunk, he watched the Mariner row the boat and remarked: “The Devil knows how to row,” (Coleridge, Line 570).
Hermit-
The Hermit first appeared in Part the Sixth, on the pilot’s boat. He interrupted the Seraphs with his hymns. The Mariner strongly believed that the Hermit will wash away the Albatrosses blood. The Mariner stated that Hermit lived in the woods where he was one with nature. The Hermit comforted the Pilot, and caused them to go closer to the ship and allowed the Mariner to board the boat. Back on land, he listened to the Mariner’s tale, and reveals to him that the Mariner must tell his story or else he will return to agony.
Detailed Description of the Events Within the Poem:
Part the First (Lines 1-82):
- A Wedding-Guest is stopped by the Mariner.
- Wedding-Guest tries to brush him off, but gets entranced by the Mariner’s eyes and listens to the story.
- The Mariner begins his story.
- The Mariner sets off into the ocean in his ship.
- Story get’s briefly interrupted by the bride’s appearance, but the Wedding-Guests’s attention returns to the Mariner.
- Suddenly, there is an intense storm causing the ship to flee.
- The ship goes the land of “mist and snow” (Coleridge, line 51).
- An Albatross comes to the ship. “[The] Albatross proveth a bird of good omen, and followeth the ship as it returned northward through fog and floating ice” (Coleridge, side note).
- The fog around the ship intensifies.
- The Wedding-Guest interrupts: “God save thee, ancient Mariner!” (Coleridge, line 79)
- For some unknown reason, the Mariner shoots the Albatross with his crossbow.
Part the Second (Lines 83-142):
- The Mariner’s ship is returning back north and the sun is rising.
- The crew is blaming the Mariner for killing the Albatross and causing “the breeze to blow!” (Coleridge, line 94).
- It is silence upon the ship.
- The Sun is described with hellish imagery.
- The men on the ship are dying of thirst.
- “Water, water, everywhere, / And all the boards did shrink; / Water, water, everywhere, / Nor any drop to drink.” (Coleridge, lines 119-122)
- The appears to be rotting as well.
- A spirit is following the ship “[nine] fathom deep” (Coleridge, line 133). (The spirit reappears in Part the Fifth).
- To try and redeem themselves from their misfortune, the crew hung the Albatross around the Mariner’s neck.
Part the Third (Lines 143-224):
- The crew is suffering from the lack of water when they see a ship in the distance.
- Everyone gets their energy back.
- The Mariner notices some weird things about this ship.
- It’s moving in a zigzag formation towards them, “[without] a breeze, without a tide,/She steadies with upright keel!” (Coleridge, lines 169-170).
- The ship goes between the Mariner’s ship and the sun.
- The ship appears like a skeleton, “[are] those her ribs through the Sun” (Coleridge, line 185).
- The Mariner questions “[is] that a death” (Coleridge, line 188), upon seeing the ship.
- Onboard the ship is a Woman and a Woman’s mate.
- The Woman is then described in more detailed, and named LIFE-IN-DEATH.
- The Woman’s mate is briefly described, and is the called DEATH.
- The pair are playing a game, and LIFE-IN-DEATH wins.
- The sun sets, and suddenly the night sky is full of stars.
- One by one, each member of the crew (200 men) falls down dead. Their eyes staring at the Mariner.
- The souls of the men fly off, “[and] every soul, it pass’d me by/Like the whizz of my CROSS-BOW!” (Coleridge, line 223).
Part the Fourth (Lines 225-292):
- The Wedding-Guest interrupts the story, and asks the Mariner to stop.
- The Mariner ignores the Wedding-Guest, and continues his tale.
- Around the Mariner, everything is rotting. The sea, the boat, the dead men.
- The Mariner is alone for “[seven] days, seven nights,” (Coleridge, line 262).
- In the shadow of the ship, the Mariner sees water-snakes in beautiful colours.
- He is so bewildered that he “bless’d them unaware” (Coleridge, line 28).
- Whilst praying at the water-snakes, the Albatross falls off of the Mariner’s neck and into the ocean.
Part the Fifth (Lines 293-410):
- The Mariner is sleeping on the ship when it begins to rain.
- The Mariner soaks up the water in disbelief.
- “I thought that I had died in sleep, / And was a blesséd ghost.” (Coleridge, lines 308-309).
- The wind around the ship intensifies.
- Strangely, the wind never reaches the ship, but the ship begins to move.
- “The dead men gave a grown.” (Coleridge, line 331).
- The dead crew arise, and resume their posts around the ship.
- Among the dead crew is the Mariner’s dead nephew.
- The Mariner resumes his post among the dead men.
- The Mariner’s story gets interrupted by the Wedding-Guest.
- The Mariner calms him down, and continue his tale.
- When morning comes, the dead men fall down dead.
- Sweet sounds come from them, and the Mariner takes some time to admire it. (A lot of auditory imagery).
- The Spirit from the land of mist and snow appears.
- The Spirit holds the ship still before rocking the ship like a, “pawing horse” (Coleridge, line 390).
- The Spirit let’s go of the ship, causing it to bound off and knocks the Mariner unconscious.
- Two VOICES appear in the air. They confirm the Mariner’s sin.
- The Spirit excuses himself: “The Spirit who bideth by himself / In the land of mist and snow, / He loved the bird that loved the man / Who shot him with his bow.” (Coleridge, lines 399-402).
- The other voice reveals that “[the] man hath penance done, / And penance more will do.” (Coleridge, lines 410-411).
Part the Sixth (Lines 411-514):
- The two voices speak to each other above the unconscious Mariner.
- One is asking questions about how the ship is moving, and the other is answering his questions.
- They mention how the Moon is guiding the Mariner.
- The voices fly away when they see that the Mariner is waking up.
- The Mariner wakes to the two hundred dead men looking down at him.
- The Mariner feels the wind gently fan him.
- He sees that he’s arriving back at the harbour from where he set off from in Part the First.
- There is an ominous mood as he celebrates the fact that he is back.
- The Mariner sees crimson colours before seeing Seraph-man standing above every corpse.
- The Seraphs wave their hands at the Mariner.
- The heavenly sight is interrupted by the sound of oars.
- Upon the boat is a Pilot, a Pilot’s boy, and a Hermit. (Allusion of the Holy Trinity).
- The Mainer believes that the Hermit will save him and “he’ll wash away / The Albatross’ blood” (Coleridge, lines 513-514).
Part the Seventh (Lines 515-626):
- The Mariner spends a couple of stanzas on the description of the Hermit.
- The Pilot and the Pilot’s boy don’t want to approach the ship, but the Hermit encourages them to go on.
- The Mariner waits for them, and hears a sound.
- “The ship went down like lead.” (Coleridge, line 550).
- The Mariner manages to climb aboard the Pilot’s boat.
- The boat is swerling due to the ship sinking.
- The Pilot shrieks and the Hermit prays.
- The Mariner takes the oars and rows them away whilst the Pilot’s boy calls him the devil.
- The Mariner finally reaches the shore.
- He turns to the Hermit to save him.
- The Hermit forces him to tell his tale before leaving him alone.
- The Mariner feels agony until he tells his tale. The agony eventually returns.
- He passes from land to land, and tells his tale to people he has selected.
- The scene returns to the Wedding day where the bride and the bridesmaids are singing.
- The Mariner says goodbye to the Wedding-Guest.
- “He prayeth best, who loveth best / All things both great and small; / For the dear God who loveth us, / He made and loveth all.” (Coleridge, lines 611-614).
- The Wedding-Guest watches him leave and became, “A sadder and a wiser man / He rose the morrow morn.” (Coleridge, lines 625-626).
Significance of the Text:
Rime of the Ancient Mariner is a romantic piece that explores the relationship of nature and society. During this time period, Coleridge was trying to determine himself which is better: natural religion or organised religion? This is clearly exemplified by the poem as both natural deities (the water-snakes) and the Christian deities (the seraphs) interact with the Mariner. It would appear that Coleridge finally turns to celebrating God with nature as the Mariner finally receives clarity through a Hermit.
This poem is a perfect example of esemplastic, a term first created by Coleridge. This is a term used when imagination and different senses of the poet is used together to describing a thing. An example in Rime of the Ancient Mariner is, “And ice, mast-high, came floating by, / As green as emerald.” (Coleridge, Line 53-54).
Interesting Tidbit:
Originally this poem was going to be a collaboration between William Wordsworth and Samuel Coleridge as a quick was to get easy money. Eventually, Coleridge saw its potential and took on the task alone. Despite this separation, some of the ideas from Wordsworth is still present such as the Mariner shooting the Albatross.
Where more of Coleridge’s Work can be Found:
http://www.amazon.co.uk/Samuel-Taylor-Coleridge/e/B000AR9E2S
Works Cited:
Wordsworth, William, and Samuel Taylor Coleridge. “Rime of the Ancient Mariner.” Lyrical Ballads. Oxford: Woodstock, 1990. N. pag. Print.
Words: 6,700
Synopsis:
Megalomaniac Writer 